


Remember don't scratch...

by CaffeinatedBunny



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Getting Together, How Do I Tag, M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Post-Canon, Stream of Consciousness, Tattoos, To Be Edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19074946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedBunny/pseuds/CaffeinatedBunny
Summary: There's a lot hidden beneath Arthur's suits and it's been years since anyone of importance has seen his secrets; not since Mal. All it takes is a failed job and an unwanted dunk in Venice's canals to lead him to a new beginning.





	Remember don't scratch...

**Author's Note:**

> So I will explain how this story came to be. It's all queuebird's fault from the Inception Discord and spiralled out from an idea of what type of Tattoos would Arthur have and yeah this is my take on that. I wrote it in under 24 hours. I don't know how to tag this or how to summarize this so I did the best I could. 
> 
> Any ways please Enjoy!

He knew what to expect, knew the steps that the body took to heal certain types of wounds; hell it wasn’t even his first tattoo. You couldn’t go through being a military man and not have a tattoo, the ink as much of a mark of honor as any badge or rank. So Arthur knew what to expect, knew the way his body normally handled a tattoo, did his research on local artists and shops, cross-referenced them before booking a consultation with the artist he preferred. The consultation had gone well, and they had booked the appointment for the following week; it would give him a day to get used to the new presence on his skin along with any itchiness or tenderness. 

Little did he know that it would be his spine that would change his whole understanding of how a tattoo on himself would heal. He could feel the thicker heavy lines as they framed his spine, the finer nearly pin pricked lines that tracked marked the curvature of an ammonite shell with a diamond like frame, that drew the eye to the innate Fibonacci spiral. He had stunned the Artist with his pain tolerance when he did the whole piece in one sitting; and barely bit back the smirk when he told her ‘Pain was all in the mind.’ Breaking any last assumption she had of him, considering he had shown up to this appointment in a designer suit and wingtips. 

Arthur hadn’t acknowledged her appreciative stare after he had stripped off his Jacket, dress and undershirt showing off the vibrant swirling arch of Van Gogh's Starry Night. The first hint of Prussian Blue, curling around the socket of his left arm, that flows like the turbulent sky of-the-art piece down along his side, flowing out into the famous swirls of Prussian, Cobalt blue, and Ultramarine artificia along with the halo’s of Zinc, Cardamom and yellow ocher. The sky meandered down his side ending with just the hint of the sleepy village along the curve of his left hip. He heard her suck in a breath once he had finished folding his clothes, before turning back to her with a small smile while showing off his chest piece, an elaborate old parchment map, with a realistic looking bullet hole where his heart would be along with a finely detailed pocket watch along his right pectoral. The first curl of Van Gogh bleeding into the dark lines of the map. Flowing cursive writing nearly hidden within the curled and burnt edges of the map. 

From there the appointment went easily, the hours flowing by relatively easily, with thankfully little forced conversation past the checks he was all right or if he’d need a break to move around. Once the tattoo was done, him nodding along with her assessment that he knew what to expect and how to take care of them, so it was easy to go from whipedown, cover, aftercare, payment and out the door, his suit of armour once more inplace around him as he walked down the sidewalk of the current city he was residing in. 

 

The planned job not a difficult one by any means but still tedious in it’s own way and him sitting mostly behind his work station pulling all the research the team would need at the base of operations, while Eames was following the mark’s fiance, the architect at her own table and the extractor off trailing the mark to learn how best to approach them. It should have been routine, and easy enough; but the damn tattoo itched to the point of distraction. There was also a subtle throb that wouldn’t leave him even days afterwards, it got to the point that he could tell that Eames had seen through the hairline fractures of his mask. Then again Eames always did managed to be the first and nearly only one in dreamshare who seemed to be able to read his tells. 

Like the research the job should have been easy, routine and gone off without a hitch; complacency was a death sentence. The extractor had gotten complacent, gotten cocky with not enough experience to back it up no matter that he had been deemed by the community as a whole that he was reliable. So here they were topside, fleeing the scene with the marks security right on their heels, swerving through the tight streets of Venice. 

He’s clenching his teeth, as the throb along his spine ratchets up a notch with the constant press back against the car’s seat as he presses down the gass and shifting the gears with an ease of long time familiarity. But the street’s of Venice were not the easiest to navigate, while fleeing at top speed while trying to evade both those pursuing you and regular traffic of a city; eventually luck runs out. 

All it took was a clip to their back end and they were spinning, out of control and hitting a guardrail that sent them heading into one of the Canals. There was no real time to react as they go over, though Arthur is doing his best to get his window down and trying to aim for his seatbelt release as they go crashing into the canal. A car sinking always happens faster that people tend to think, made a little faster with Arthur’s partially lowered window. He’s making sure to calm his breathing, as he settles in to wait till they were fully emerged. His hand clamping down onto the Architects arm, as he shakes his head.

“Calm down, save your energy and breath. It’ll be easier once the car has sunk fully.” He explains quickly, knowing Eames would be doing the same as himself and possibly the extractor if he was smart. With one last deep breath in, as the water quickly sinks the car further; the waiting the final few seconds were always the worst. From there it was just a matter of unrolling the windows, making sure everyone was free of their seat belts and swimming as far as their lungs would let them before surfacing. 

They were all gasping for air by the time they were along the other bank and much further up the canal hiding under a bridge close to an emergency staircase. The Architect panting and clinging to the wrought iron rail, while Arthur was standing on one of the steps wringing out his jacket no matter that it was a lost cause, listening out for speeding cars or shouts more than those behind him. So the loud sucking in of a breath doesn’t register till the a hot hand presses his chilled shirt to his right side making him jerk and hiss in surprise.

“Careful darling, it looks like you got nicked at some point.” Eames rasped into his ear as he settles in beside him. 

“I’m not injured.” Arthur says firmly as he shifts away from the heat that seems to radiate out from the other man with a glance from the Forger down to his shirt only to curl his lips in annoyance, at the blood red bursts of his poppies are just noticeable through the stone grey dress shirt he had chosen for the day. Pressing his lips together in annoyance, he shifts to the side to look over their group. “We're splitting up from here, Fernando; your dealing with the client. It was your job and you fucked up. Handle it.” He finds himself ordering before turning and walking dripping wet down the side street’s of Venice. By the time he made it to his hotel, he was mostly dry, though shivering with chill; he would give himself an hour to right himself before vanishing once more. 

His skin is still pink from heat as he cleans up his hotel room, packing away what little he left out, waiting for his hair to dry naturally; after all it was best to slip out of country looking nothing like the image of the man who did a crime. He’s going through the clothes he’s packed looking for a specific casual outfit he had packed, that he doesn’t hear the slide of a key card into his door or the soft click of the latch. It’s not till he feel’s the gust of warm air from the hallway that he’s turning, gun already drawn and pointed, when the sight of Eames registers. 

“What the fuck Eames.” He snaps as he carefully puts his gun back down onto the dresser’s top even as he glares at the other man angrily. Arthur’s crossing his arms in front of his chest, not bothered by the fact that he was standing there in nothing but a towel in front of the forger. “What are you doing here?” The question slips out to fill the silence as the broader man continues to stand still as stone in the doorway of his hotel room; though thankfully the door was closed behind him.

“I didn’t believe you about the injury…” The words drip slow from his lips as he continues to stare, it takes a moment for Arthur to realize why. Eames had never seen him out of a suit, he wasn’t Mal who was with him for the planning of his second tattoo. An exploding bouquet of flowers, golden yellow sunflowers, indigo irises, red daisies and poppies, pink roses and a small scattering of almond blossoms along his right side that started with poppies. Poppies that follow along the curve of his hip, some whole while others have their petals scattered by an imaginary wind that trails them along his lower pelvis, twining with the flowing font of his Rimbaud quote ‘Mille Rêves en moi font de douces brûlures’. He wasn’t Dom who knew of the tattoo’s in a distant why, mainly because he had listened in on Mal and himself discussing the symbolism of his pieces but had never seen them. 

Eames starred with a wonder of a man who had never seen art before, mind you their two tattoo styles were worlds away from each other. So leaning back against the hotel issued dresser, he puts his body on display. Bracing his hands on either side of himself, showing off the bouquet and the starry night sky on either side, his map, time and death on his chest, the rest were hidden either due to the towel in place or position on his body. 

“Not injured as you can now see, so if you’d let me get back to packing?” He questions rhetorically with a pointedly arch brow, though like always Eames ignores the implication and instead of leaving he strides forwards like a man on a mission. 

“You have fresh ink, don’t you pet? That’s what caused all your squirming and shifting about. Itching that badly?” Eames asks while coming to a stop right before him, not quite boxing him in, but nonetheless keeping him where he leaned. The questions had him pursing his lips in irritation. They didn’t have time for this and he was already falling behind schedule, at this rate he might as well bring the irritating Forger with him out of the country. 

“I take it you have your bag and everything with you?” Arthur asks on a huff as he slips through the small space left between himself and Eames, ignoring the thrill that tingles up his spine at the press of his heat and body against his own as he does so. 

“Of course, I had to stop by and check on you before I make my escape why?” The other man asks a frown pulling at his expressive face, at least always so expressive when they were together. 

“Since you’ve delayed me, we might as well get out together and knowing your preference for waiting till your at the airport to choose your destination well I’m not really inconveniencing you.” Arthur says as if it should have been obvious to the other man, as he finds the outfit he was looking for, knowing that he was giving Eames time to view his newest back piece, the two death-head hawk moths on the back of his arms just above his elbows and the bust that graced the back of his calf. The bust was one of his favourites, the hyper realism work done on the bust made it look like a piece of aged marble, the half face androgynous in the features that were left as all of space, flows from where the rest of the head should be in a bold burst of colour splashed up towards the back of his knee. 

Modesty having been stripped from him years ago while in the military, Arthur is quick to drop the towel, revealing how the town from the Starry Night tapers down to form the heavily detailed grip of a fountain pen, who’s ink swirls, carves and flows in an elaborate spill along his outer left thigh.

“Jesus Darling, your work is gorgeous.” Eames breathes out as he once more steps forwards into his space though this time not touching him as he dressed. 

“Thank you.” Arthur grudgingly accepts the compliment but bites off anything further as he focuses on finishing dressing in a pair of comfortably broken in jeans, a dark coloured flannel shirt over a vintage t-shirt. Finally turning around Arthur barely manages to suppress a smirk at the flabbergasted look of the other mans face. 

Dipping down to pick up both his to go bag and the passive he moves easily towards the room’s door, tossing a: ‘Come along Mr. Eames.’ over his shoulder. Finally allowing the smirk to curve his lips now that the forger couldn’t see as he hears the man scrambling to catch up. 

The flight from Venice to Istanbul was barely a flight all things considered and it was easy to lead Eames through the airport and out to where he had a hired car waiting for them the driver standing holding a sign with his Turkish alias. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses he strides forwards greeting the driver easily in turkish before moving to put his luggage into the trunk. It was interesting to see Eames following in his path, confusion and interest open on his face as he watches the interaction before joining him in the back seat. 

Arthur continues to watch as Eames takes a moment to settle in while watching the driver out of the corner of his eye as the man makes sure the luggage was stored safely before heading towards his door. He can see the questions forming and shakes his head firmly before the forger could open his mouth to ask them, Arthur knows that Eames is taking it all in, forming hypothesis before discarding and going over it all again. Reading body language and microexpressions with the best of them; reading Arthur like no one else. It’s a unique pleasure to see the relaxation slowly settle into the other man's body as he sinks into the plus backseat with a sigh. 

The ride from the airport to his home was uneventful, mercifully quiet and it was only a matter of getting their luggage from the back of the car and up the drive before they were alone once more. 

“We’ll stay here for a couple of days before going our separate ways.” Arthur decides, liking that plan as he unlocks his front door and glides in with a sigh. The house smells faintly of rich spices and warm vanilla, no doubt there was a pot on the stove gently bubbling to help freshen up the place. His housekeeper was a wonderful lady like that, always making sure the place welcomed him on his arrival even with only two hours notice.

Sighing he takes a moment to kick off the trainers he had slipped his feet into, shrugging out of the flannel, pulling the t-shirt off with a groan before wandering into his living room and collapsing onto the plush couch. He doesn’t really forget about Eames, not really it’s just that he’s too tired to be worried about the man's presence and considering he seemed to be joining in collapsing on the nearest plush surface there was nothing to worry about. 

He doesn’t know how long he drifted for and it wasn’t till the sensation of fingers dragging gently over his spine that he fully woke up, tensing under the soft strokes of Eames fingers over the tattoo that was now barely two weeks old. Still itching so maddeningly through out the failed job, skin was still sensitive, still stiff and tight with the constant need for moisture. 

“It’s healing well even with the dunk in the canals of Venice,” Eames says softly his breath ghosting over the small of his back making his skin goosebump as a shiver rolls up his spine. “You’ve missed spots while moisturizing… let me Darling?” It was a request and a plea all rolled into one question as those fingers once more pick up their maddening feather soft strokes along the fresh lines. 

“In my bag, front pocket is the moisturizer I prefer.” He finds himself murmuring the first time he’s spoken since waking up to the soft barely there touch. Arthur listens as Eames quietly pads from the living room back into the front hallway to where they had left their bags. He listens at the loud rustling as the other man digs through, snooping more so than actually getting the lotion. Arthur finds he doesn’t mind the time to think, to figure out how they got to this point; if he’s being honest they had been heading to this point for many years but had gotten diverted along the way by life and crises. 

Here they were now, in one of Arthur’s many homes around the world stashed away till the backlash of their last job blows over and he’s finding he doesn’t mind. Doesn’t mind the idea of sharing this place, his space and himself with Eames; in fact he’s more than ready and he hopes that the Forger is just as ready and willing as he is. It wouldn’t do to have them being on a different page after all this time, what a waste that would be. The sound of sure quiet feet on the hardwood draws his attention back to Eames as the man strides in with a triumphant smile while holding the container of lotion aloft. 

He finds himself watching as Eames settles in beside him, kneeling in the plush carpeting he had chosen for the living room. Watches curiously as the broader man sets aside the lotion and takes a moment to use an alcohol wipe to sanitize his hands before using the wipe to open the container. Eames is precise in eyeing exactly how much lotion was needed to the tattoo before he’s leaning over his back and starts to spread the lotion along the still scabbed over lines. 

He’s gentle and careful not to disrupt or pull the slowly flaking scabs as the tattoo continues through it’s healing process. It takes Arthur some time to realize that Eames had been done with carefully covering the tattoo with lotion considering the feelings of his fingers along the back has him sinking deeper into the plush cushions of the couch his face pillowed on his arms as he drifts somewhere between a doze and wakefulness. 

“What am I doing here Darling, and what wonderful amazing thing did I do to earn this treat of touching you, of seeing you without your armour hugging you so perfectly.” The words were breathed out over his spine, the touch of dry soft lips between his shoulder blades while the hand that had been still stroking his ammonite tattoo slides over to his right side and the bouquet of flowers with it’s base of poppies. 

“Don’t you think we’ve been waiting long enough?” He queries back turning his head so that he could look at the man who was kneeling at his side. Arthur takes in the look of longing that’s fully taken over Eeames’ face as his attention drifts to the Starry Night. 

“Arthur, don’t be cruel and a tease now.” The words come out rough, desperation barely held back, the forgers hand gripping at his hip before once more easing into a caress of fingers. Shifting instead of answering, Arthur moves so that he was sitting up his leg’s on either side of the still kneeling Eames. Wetting his bottom lip he watches the other man, taking in the carefully constructed blank expression that did nothing to hide the naked emotions in the mans amazingly chameleon eyes. Watching quietly as the Man once more takes in the tattoo’s on display, see’s it the moment Eames’s attention is drawn to the nearly hidden words along the edge of his map. 

Arthur get’s to see it the moment the other man makes out the words: 'Catch me if you can', the wonder and utter delight that lights up his eyes as he looks up at him. The forger surges forwards, his arms wrapping loosely about his hips as a smirk curls his plush lips.

“Have I finally caught you then, is this you showing me the prize I’m finally worthy of for giving chase on this mad, merry dash over the globe?” The words are purred out a hair's breadth away from his lips as the mans large hands rest at his hips, the fingers twitching spasmodically as if he’s fighting the need to grip him tight.The questions startles him a bit considering he never considered their game as waiting for Eames to be worthy in some way. Shaking his head with a small smile, halting the forger from continuing to speak as he takes in the man’s face; his eyes were still bright with delight though confusion was causing a small wrinkle along his forehead. Reaching out he pulls the other man the last bit forwards to finally press their lips together in their first kiss. It was a slow drag of dry lips, a careful tasting as they ease into the connection. 

He can’t help the soft groan that falls from him as Eames’s hands grip his hips, pulling him forwards and all but into his lap as the kiss slowly deepens till they were drinking each other in. It wasn’t a frantic kiss by any means, they were content to let the embers of need slowly kindle as the kiss only breaks for them to pant open mouthed against each other. 

Arthur hastily swallows a whine as Eames pulls his mouth further away, far enough back that the broader man could once more look over his face. He barely has enough time to feel the sudden tension in the man kneeling beneath him, before his hands are latching onto Eames’ shoulders as the forger easily lifts him as he stands up in one fluid motion.

“Jesus fuck, Eames!” He shouts as the man’s hands move to support him by gripping where thigh met ass. The forgers whole frame shakes with his laughter as he shifts and heads back to entrance way and the staircase that led to the second floor. 

“Come on Pet, lead me to your bedroom.” Eames murmurs into his ear as he carefully makes his way up the staircase, his arms not even trembling with effort while he walks down the upstairs hallway waiting for Arthur to tell him which door. A brow arching while Arthur waits till his back is pressed against the double french doors that lead to his master suite. 

Not bothering to speak up, Arthur just reaches behind him to open the door for them, and once more Eames carries him further into the room. He was expecting to be put down so the other man could explore the unknown space, poke around and snoop; gather more observations about him that only Eames seemed to know. Instead the forger strides straight through the little seating area to drop him onto the bed. A soft sound escapes him as he connects to the mattress and is left looking up at the man that had always had his attention. 

The hunger in Eames’ eyes was arousing in away that Arthur can’t remember the last time he felt; it was stark and blatant, nearly all consuming as the other man takes in the sight of him spread out on the comforter. It was everything he wanted and everything he felt for the other man in return. 

“ I caught you fair and square Arthur, and I won’t do any take backs.” Eames says firmly as he moves quickly to strip himself of his wrinkled dress shirt, tie and cufflinks haphazardly. It was such an Eames thing to do that Arthur can’t help the way he tilts his head back and laughs, bright and loud and he knows that his dimples are fully on display. 

“I don’t accept take backs so I’m afraid your stuck with me.” He returns with an arch of his brow as he watches Eames, finally naked to the waist climb onto the bed; curious to see what the other man was planning. Arthur sucks in a breath as Eames physically lifts and hauls him up into his lap so he was straddling the larger man. 

“Good, now let me take all your beauty in. I’ve been dreaming about what you looked like under those suits of yours and I must say reality far out does my simple dreams.” The words are reverently soft as the man’s large rough hands rasp over his jean clad thighs and up over the skin of his lower belly. His large finger traces the words forever inked into his skin, backwards following them to their origin point amongst the poppies and up over the bouquet. Eames trails his hands and fingers over his artwork, the simple touch electrifying when combined with the look of devotion, reverence and hunger. 

The forger takes his time in memorizing and appreciating the tattoos that cover him so prominently, pausing only just long enough to strip him of his jeans before carrying on. He uses his hands first followed by his lips; nuzzling and kissing the easily flushed skin, the care and attention, feels like a punch to the gut making Arthur short of breath. It’s a slow seduction as Arthur finds himself tugging at Eames’ hair to get his attention, aiming for quick kisses that end up anything but quick. 

This was no quick rutt to sait an urge or scratch an itch; this was a slow meandering meeting of lovers. Lovers that were learning each other for the first time, this wasn’t the fumbling in the back of a warehouse or a quick tumble in the sheets at a hotel. No there was so much more weight to this than any of those; it hung in the air all around them, like time was paused and there was only them left in the world. It was slow, tender, tinged with the desperation for it to never end, it was like waves as they flowed and crested. It was embers banked for years bursting into an inferno that left them gasping and panting for breath; skin slicked with sweat and pressed together, grasping each other so not to be apart.

It was years in the making to reach this point, a new beginning out of the ashes of a life that had been familiar but hadn’t felt quite right. Something Arthur hadn’t bothered to acknowledge till just this moment; since Cobb had retired, he had felt left adrift and unsure where or what came next so he had kept on the path of least resistance and continued to work. Work that had been unsatisfactory or interesting, it had all continued to be routine. 

Eames breathed life back into him and this was the new beginning, fresh start he had been looking for since the moment Cobb had walked through the departure doors. 

“I can hear your mind whirling Darling, let it go and just be here with me…” Eames rasps against his throat roughly before he gives the tender skin there another nip, making him groan; and Arthur just knows there’s going to be a hickey right there. He hasn’t had a hickey in such a noticeable spot since College. Huffing he rolls his eyes before settling onto the warmth of Eames’ chest and nuzzles his cheek into the chest hair there; surprised at how easily contentment and peace settles over him. 

“I can be here with you.” 

“Good; that’s all I want to hear.”


End file.
